The Fire
by swc18
Summary: Katie Bowman is about to sabotage her own house. This is my take on the scene, and what's going on inside her head. S1E4


Katie begged her hands to stop shaking. She stood by the kitchen sink, staring at the greenery on the sunny windowsill. Everything around her was so calm; just a normal morning at the Bowman house, but the rapid pounding of her heart told a different story. Her hand reached over and grabbed a glass, filling it with water and taking a sip in a vain attempt to calm herself. Her house was about to be set on fire, _intentionally._

She turned and walked over by the door, peering through the peep hole before flipping a switch to illuminate the light above the door outside, signaling her team that it was time.

She stood, waiting, knowing what was coming; she had just signaled for it, but given her edgy state of mind, the crash of the firebomb through the window still startled her.

The flames quickly took root in the carpet, working their way up the wall and table in the dining room. She grabbed the fire extinguisher and counted to herself, "One…two…three" up to ten. The number of seconds Broussard had told her to wait before pulling the pin and sweeping the extinguishing fog across the base of the fire.

She knew the plan made sense; stage an attack "on Will" while she's the only one home, so that she would be brought in for questioning and hopefully get a look at who Will's boss is. Will's boss, whose job it is to dismantle to resistance group that she's a part of; the group fighting for freedom and not collaborating with the assholes currently dictating every aspect of their lives.

Seeing her living room black and ashen gave her pause, though only for a moment.

_"The things we have to do these days." _She thought with a shake of her head, as she went over to the phone to call Will and tell him what happened.

XXXXX

Fire trucks and paramedics had gotten there quickly. She'd been forcibly evaluated, even though she told them she was fine, not a scratch. Who knows how many red-hatted people were currently inside her house, but she was stuck waiting…sitting on the back of the ambulance.

Her nerves had settled as she thought about what might happen next. What she _hoped _would happen next. This was her chance to get a look inside Homeland. Though she didn't relish the thought of being interrogated by Will's boss, it was the only way for them to find out who the person was. She glanced up and saw Will running towards her, obviously concerned.

He wrapped his arms around her into a hurried, desperate hug before asking, "The kids? Are the kids ok?"

"They're fine," she answered quickly, in as reassuring of a tone she could muster, "they were at the park, everyone's fine." She cupped his face, looking him dead in the eyes to convince him, and gauge whether or not her "all-clear" message had permeated his consciousness.

The furrow between his eyes disappeared as he let out a sigh. She let her hands drop from his face, sliding one of them down his arm to hold his hand.

"I'm sorry about this." He gestured vaguely at the house, but she knew he meant more than that. Sorry that he was working for the occupation. Sorry that their family was a target because of it.

"It's ok, I-" she was cut off by a blonde woman in a nice suit, who promptly extended a hand to Katie.

"Hi I'm Jennifer McMahon."

A bit off guard she replied, "Uh, hi, Katie" she shook her hand and looked at Will, hoping for some insight, but Jennifer continued.

"Homeland is doing a sweep now, but we have to assume this was some sort of attack on Will." She looked at Katie, "Were you the only one home when it happened?"

"Yea, the kids were at the park, it was just me."

"Would you mind coming down to our office for some questions?"

"Now hold on," Will interjected.

"It's fine, Will." Katie insisted. This is what she needed to happen.

"No, some asshole fire bombs our house, they don't need to interrogate you just because-"

"Will," Katie said with a tone that left no room for argument, "they want to find out who firebombed our house….so do I." She looked him in the eyes, holding his gaze until he let his guard down.

"Fine," he said dejectedly. She couldn't help but smile a little, touched by his protectiveness. It was endearing, but often not at all necessary. She could handle things; hell, she preferred to. No sitting around all day doing nothing; she loved being busy, doing things that mattered.

Jennifer accompanied her into their house so she could grab her bag, and then led her to one of the large, black vehicles that would take her to Homeland. She put her bag in her lap and smoothed her dress, trying not to fidget or show any signs of nervousness. She'd already rehearsed her story multiple times, but the ride over would offer a chance for a few more run-throughs, and she wasn't going to waste a second.

XXXXX

Will held the door as she and Jennifer entered the building for Homeland. Her hands clung white-knuckled to the strap of her bag as her mind raced to absorb everything around her. It was a busy place; not that she'd expected it to be a lazy office space full of middle-aged balding men, but it was still odd to put the "face to the name" so to speak, of the ever-prominent organization scrutinizing their lives.

As they approached the end of the hallway, an older woman with a short bob and glasses opened the door.

"You must be Katie," she offered a smile and a handshake.

"Yes," Katie took her hand out of politeness and did her best to offer a genuine smile. This woman might be perfectly nice, but her position in the authority alone made Katie wary.

"I'm Phyllis. Please come in."

Katie moved inside the door and Will started to follow before Phyllis shifted slightly to block him, "I'd like to talk to her alone, if that's ok?" But it wasn't a question.

Will looked at Katie, his eyes asking, "_You ok with this?"_

She nodded at him, offering a reassuring smile for emphasis as she continued towards the chair in Phyllis' office.

Will retracted to the hallway and shut the door behind him. Katie knew he wouldn't be far; likely sitting on the bench just outside, straining to hear their conversation above all the white noise of a bustling office.

Katie sat in the comfortable chair across from Phyllis' desk as Phyllis walked over to take her seat. She had all she needed. Her name is Phyllis and Katie knows what she looks like, the rest of this encounter was a matter of being the convincing, innocent wife of a Homeland agent.

"I'm glad to finally meet you, I just wish it were under better circumstances," Phyllis started.

"Yea its uh, it's been a long day," she said with a little laugh.

Phyllis smiled too, "I can imagine."

First impressions; this women didn't seem bad at all. Her mind had conjured up images of someone much more snake-like. Cunning. Cold. Manipulative. But after their brief exchange, she found herself a little more at ease, but certainly not letting her guard down.

Phyllis picked up a pen and straightened the notebook in front of her, "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"Ok. I was…upstairs."

"Doing what?"

"Folding laundry."

Phyllis scribbled something on her notebook.

_That really an important detail? _Katie thought.

"Then what?"

"I heard a crash in the living room, went down the stairs, grabbed the fire extinguisher-"

"You keep one in the house?"

"Yea, under the sink."

Phyllis paused, writing more, "And then?"

"And then I…well, I put the fire out and called Will."

"The attacker, did you see him?"

"He was wearing all black and had a mask over his face." Katie offered apologetically.

Phyllis didn't skip a beat, "But you did see him?"

"Yea."

"So a man…firebombs your house, waits for you to go all the way downstairs and grab the fire extinguisher…then lets you get a look at him?" her tone was more interrogational now.

Katie's mind scrambled for a split second, searching for the best response. Composing and correcting a story on the fly was something that came naturally, and in that moment she was thankful. Her instinct spoke: _Turn it around._

"Are you asking me to explain the motivations of a man who was _attacking _my family?" she said with indignity, effectively accusing Phyllis of being insensitive and insulting.

Phyllis retracted immediately, "No I just…maybe he wanted you to see him, maybe he was trying to send a message?"

"If the message was to terrify me it worked." She replied curtly, furthering her "innocent housewife" persona.

Phyllis held her gaze a moment before changing the subject. Whether or not that was a good sign, she couldn't be sure.

"How did you and Will meet?"

Glad for a lighter subject, Katie smiled, "He came into my bar back in New Orleans."

"When he was a ranger, stationed at Fort Benning."

_She's done her research. _Katie thought, "Yes."

"You must miss the south."

She did; but didn't know what that has to do with anything, so she decided to tread carefully, speaking slowly, "That's why I opened the Yonk."

"Must have caused stress in your marriage."

She felt her body tense as she tried to follow Phyllis' logic in her line of questioning, but came up empty.

Phyllis continued, "You, owning a bar. Not to mention that you're a very attractive woman. Men must've been throwing themselves at you."

Now she was just irritated, struggling to maintain her composure. Sure, men flirted with her sometimes at the Yonk but the only thing that ever came of it was better tip money. Will didn't care; he wasn't the jealous type. Not to mention the fact that Will _himself_ is quite pretty; she'd caught women staring at him more than once, but who cares? Why did Phyllis care?

"I don't know what you're getting at…but Will and I trust each other," she said firmly, holding her gaze for a moment before requesting, "I'd like to leave now."

Phyllis sighed, but agreed, "Of course."

Katie got up and went towards the door, casting one last _"how dare you" _look in Phyllis' direction as she opened the door with an emphatic twist of the handle.

Just as suspected, Will was waiting on the bench outside and hopped up immediately.

"What happened? What'd she say?"

Still flustered and not wanting to talk about it, she stammered out an excuse, "I…I had to go over everything three times," she couldn't meet his eyes and diverted them out the window instead; "I really just want to go home."

His face softened, "Ok," he said gently as he put a hand on her back and led her towards the door.

XXXX

After saying goodbye to Katie, Will marched back to Phyllis' office and burst in, unannounced and uninvited.

"What the hell did you say to her?" He could tell Katie had been upset. She never liked admitting it, but something Phyllis said had gotten to her.

Phyllis paused and set down the file she'd been holding, "Sit down."

He obliged, taking the seat Katie had recently vacated.

She began calmly, thoughtfully, "Isn't it a shame how few people we have that we can _really _trust? Before the arrival was one thing but now…"

"What's your point?" he was growing impatient.

She looked at him questioningly, "Are you sure you can really trust Katie?"

"She's my wife," he said indignantly.

"Maybe that's what's blinding you."

"Blinding me from what?" his voice raising, "What makes you think she's hiding something?"

"Intuition."

"Gonna take a hell of a lot more than that to have me barking up that tree."

"What tree is that?"

"The 'accusing my wife of firebombing our own house' tree". He can't imagine a situation where that conversation would go over well. He wasn't ignorant. He knew something was off with Katie lately, but he couldn't know what, and had no real evidence to support his suspicion. Throwing accusations her way would only land him in the dog house and result in her shutting him out even more. If that happened, he'd never know what was really going on.

Her voice softened, "I understand that; but just…tread carefully, Will."

XXXX

Will had dropped her off at home, but Katie decided to go to the Yonk and clear her head. Lindsey was still around and looking after Gracie, so she left; grabbing her hat and bike and heading over.

She was so thankful for that damn bike; with personal vehicles no longer being a privilege, a lot of people had to walk everywhere. She counted herself lucky for that as she felt the warmth of the afternoon sun on her arms, listening to the sound of her bike coasting down a hill.

She stopped a few feet away from the Yonk's back door and dismounted the bike, walking it the rest of the way. A few strands of hair had fallen out of her braid on the way over; she tucked them behind her ear with one hand and grabbed her keys with the other. Glancing over both shoulders first, she opened the door and wheeled the bike inside, locking it behind her.

The familiar dark wood and smell of whiskey put her at ease. She loved her time alone there; prepping for the night and letting her mind go wherever it pleased- wandering, sorting, analyzing.

She took the clean, now dry glasses and started arranging them in an aesthetically pleasing way; the mindless task giving her a chance to reflect.

Phyllis' accusation had irked her, for reasons she couldn't quite identify in that moment. Implying that she was an attractive and therefore disloyal wife was obviously insulting at face value. But she honestly didn't think that's how she'd meant it; implying a much deeper level of distrust. Of deception. And she wasn't wrong.

Her heart sank at the thought. She hated lying to Will, but her need to fight for what she believed in wasn't something she could suppress. Standing idly by, watching the life she'd built with her family be systematically dismantled wasn't an option. Would the resistance movement be at all successful? She couldn't know. But she had to try, to do _something._

She grabbed a clean towel and started wiping down the counters.

What if Phyllis told Will of her suspicions? But even if she did…on what grounds? Phyllis had absolutely no hard evidence against her, and Will wasn't the type to make accusations or unfair assumptions on a hunch. All she could do now was keep playing the game, playing her role. But keeping everything straight was becoming a full-time job.

_Who knows what? What do I know that others don't? What're the consequences if so-and-so found out?_

Sometimes she wished she could write it all down; solidify the information into an ever-growing chart, like the boards used to track down murderers. But of course, that was too risky. Anything written down could fall into the wrong hands.

She slung the towel over her shoulder and rested her forearms on the bar, letting her head fall between her hands. Moments of solace and solitude were a rarity. Looking out at the bar she could almost pretend that this wasn't happening, that this new reality wasn't real at all; but her lack of naivety couldn't allow that fantasy to fully coalesce. So she took a deep breath, stood up, and kept moving; knowing it was all she could do.


End file.
